


Christmas Present

by wendymr



Series: Christmas Past and Present [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:50:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe he's finally starting to separate Christmas from the pain of losing Val.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Present

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dreamingjewel's prompt in my Advent Drabbles request post on LJ. This is the last of the prompts and it's not a drabble. 
> 
> This is a sequel to [Christmas Past](http://archiveofourown.org/works/603396), and is dedicated to everyone who has kindly commented on these drabbles and ficlets over the past month. Thank you all very much for your lovely words, and a very merry Christmas - or whatever festival you celebrate - to you all. With very special thanks to my partner in Lewis crime over the past year, Lindenharp.

Robbie’s mobile rings shortly before half past ten. Damn it. If that’s a callout...

He listens, responds with a curt, “On the way,” then ends the call and looks across at James, who’s already standing and gathering his things. 

“Body?”

“Yeah. Male, possibly fifties, in the doorway of the Covered Market. Back entrance.”

He shouldn’t resent the callout – some poor bastard’s dead who shouldn’t be, and on Christmas Day at that – but this is going to put the kibosh on their arrangements, isn’t it? No chance they’ll get to knock off at all today, unless they can solve the case in a few hours and leave the paperwork until they get back. Not bloody likely, that. 

“Suppose we should have expected it,” James says as they reach the stairs.

“Yeah. No rest for the wicked an’ all that. Hope you didn’t buy anything that’ll go off.”

James’s hand touches his back lightly. “Nothing that won’t keep, sir. If we still get to take tomorrow off, come round to mine then instead?”

It’s the nature of the job, and after more than thirty-five years he’s used to it. What’s actually strange is that he’s annoyed at the call-out, given that originally he hadn’t wanted to have time off at all over Christmas. Hadn’t wanted to celebrate the season. Yet first he was disappointed at having to cancel arrangements to go to Lyn’s, and now he’s pissed off that he won’t get to spend the rest of the day having Christmas dinner with James.

Maybe he’s finally starting to separate Christmas from the pain of losing Val. And he’s got no idea how he feels about that.

______________________________________

The dead man’s clearly been sleeping rough; unkempt hair and beard, filthy fingers and nails as well as clothes that have seen – and smelt – better days. Poor sod, Robbie thinks, and sees his sentiments reflected on James’s face.

“At a guess, I’d say natural causes,” James comments, squatting next to the body. “Skin temperature’s colder than I’d normally expect, and it did drop to minus ten with wind-chill last night.” Hands sheathed in forensic gloves, he’s searching the man’s pockets and accessible parts of his body. 

Something glints in the weak winter sunlight; Robbie glances down to see James holding a piece of silver jewellery. No, not just any jewellery; it’s a crucifix. James bows his head and, for a moment, his lips move silently.

When James stands, he’s matter-of-fact. “No ID that I could find. But it looks as if he’s been sleeping rough for a while. Chances are he’s known at one or more of the hostels in town.” He reaches for his mobile, then bends again and takes a couple of photos. “I’ll ask around.”

“Nah,” Robbie says quickly. “Get the uniforms onto it.” It’s their job, for one thing – and for another, he won’t have James making this into a mission because his Catholic guilt’s kicked in for one reason or another. Yes, it’s sad that this poor bloke died an unnecessary death because government and social service organisations and everyone else haven’t yet managed to come up with a solution for homelessness – or even got to the bottom of its causes. But that doesn’t make it James’s responsibility.

“Sorry I’m late.” Laura comes running up, an expensive silk blouse visible beneath her scene-suit. “I had further to come than usual.”

“Interrupted your Christmas celebrations, Doctor?” Robbie grins at her. 

“You could say that.” He gives her a closer look. Is that... oh, yeah, it’s stubble-rash all right. His grin widens. Now where was it Peterson lives? Out Wolvercote way, isn’t it? 

Odd. His reaction the first couple of times he noticed Peterson’s interest in Laura was definitely what Val would have described as dog-in-the-manger. He didn’t at all like the idea of Peterson sniffing around her – yet he wasn’t interested in more than friendship himself.

Now, though, he’s just happy for her. Genuinely so.

Laura shivers. “Bloody hell, it’s freezing in this wind. Okay, what have we got?”

James briefs her on the facts so far while she bends and completes her initial inspection, moving and probing the body as needed. After only a few minutes, she looks up. “Won’t be able to give you a definite cause until after the PM, but I’m confident that it’s what it looks like. He was in poor health anyway–” Hardly untypical of Oxford’s rough sleepers. “There’s signs of an untreated respiratory infection around the nasal tracts, and the way he’s lying suggests that he was desperately trying to keep warm.” She shakes her head as she stands. “Poor sod. But, yes, my preliminary verdict is natural causes.”

“Nothing for us to do, then,” Robbie says. He catches Laura’s arm as she’s about to hurry off. “Merry Christmas, Laura.” He leans in and kisses her cheek, then pushes her gently away. “Go on, then. Don’t keep him waiting.”

She flushes slightly, but meets his gaze. “Merry Christmas, Robbie. And you, James.”

James’s voice is subdued as he replies, “Merry Christmas, Doctor Hobson.”

“Come on.” Robbie squeezes James’s shoulder as the pathology team starts to prepare the body for transporting back to the morgue. “You know there’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll get some uniforms out with the photos, and if we get a name before we knock off we’ll try to contact family.” Not that James doesn’t know the routine; this is far from the first rough sleeper they’ve found dead. A thought strikes him. “You could contact a priest, see if he’ll go round to the morgue. If you’re sure he was Catholic?”

“I’m positive.” James has his phone in his hand. “I also found a rosary in his inside pocket.” 

“Ah.” He stands beside James while the sergeant speaks to the person on the other end of the phone – trust him to have a priest on speed-dial – and provides the details. As soon as he ends the call, he lights up, and Robbie stands beside him, leaning against the BMW, until he’s finished the cigarette.

______________________________________

There’s no news on the dead man by the time their shift’s ended. James just nods and shuts down his computer when Robbie says it’s time to go. “Would you rather forget this afternoon?” he asks, though he thinks it’d be the wrong thing to do. James broods far too much as it is.

But James gives him a rare smile. “No, of course not.” He leaves the office ahead of Robbie. “Going home first?”

“Yeah, thought I’d get changed, an’ I have a decent bottle of white I thought I’d bring.”

“Not necessary, but thanks.” 

He pats James’s shoulder again in the car park. “See you in about half an hour, all right?”

At home, he strips off his suit and is reaching for a comfortably familiar sweatshirt when he can hear Val’s voice in his head, almost as clearly as if she were standing right beside him: “ _Oh, Robbie. Not that old thing! It’s Christmas!_ ”

“I’m only going to James’s,” he protests, then pulls a face, glad there’s no-one here to overhear him talking to himself.

“ _And he’s not worth dressing up for?_ ”

Robbie huffs, then searches his wardrobe for a minute or two, finally coming up with a soft cotton shirt in a shade of blue that Val always said looked good on him, and casual slacks Lyn made him buy in Burton’s a few months ago. A sports jacket completes the ensemble. “Happy now?” he mutters, checking himself over in the mirror. “Just don’t bloody make me wear a tie!”

The Val in his head’s silent, and he leaves the bedroom, detouring to the kitchen on the way out to get the wine – and his Christmas present for James. That was difficult this year. He usually gives the lad a bottle of good single malt, but while he knows James appreciates a decent Laproaig – particularly the twenty-five-year-old that was last year’s present – given what he’s noticed in the past few months he’s not going to encourage the bloke to keep drinking alone.

Inspiration struck a few days ago, though, when he saw the state of James’s gloves: scratched all over and torn in a couple of places. “Ripped them up on barbed wire when I had to chase Moorefield a couple of weeks ago,” James explained, mouth turned down at the corners. “I forgot all about it until today – it’s not been cold enough for gloves since then. I’m going to look for a new pair in the January sales.”

He found a decent pair in Debenhams, in a soft leather that combined comfort with durability, or so the assistant assured him. He thinks he made a good guess at the size of James’s long, slim hands – well, he kept the receipt, just in case.

______________________________________

“It’s open. Come on in!” James calls in response to his knock. Robbie pushes the door and walks in. There’s music playing – Handel’s Messiah, he identifies it after a second or two – and already there are pleasant aromas coming from the kitchen.

He walks into the living-room and is struck by the transformation. Red and silver tinsel is draped over the mantelpiece and around the few ornaments James has. There are candles on the mantelpiece and coffee table, and there’s even a Christmas tree, with lights and decorations, in the corner.

“Didn’t think you’d go to this much trouble!” he calls out, taking the opportunity to go over to the tree and put his package underneath. There’s another wrapped parcel there, and he can’t help but notice his name on the tag, in James’s unmistakeable handwriting.

“I wouldn’t normally,” James replies, and Robbie turns to face him. He’s at the kitchen counter, basting the turkey. “But you’re missing out on Christmas at Lyn’s, after all... just thought I’d make the effort.”

He’d been about to mock James for conformity to the sort of trappings he normally tends to eschew, but finds he can’t, not after that. The lad did it for him. That’s... well, it’s nice, it is. Thoughtful.

“What can I do?” he says instead, joining James in the kitchen. It’s then he notices that he’s not the only one who made an effort to dress nicely. James is wearing a forest-green casual shirt, open at the neck, and charcoal trousers. It suits him a lot better than his usual off-duty attire; in fact, he looks downright nice. The effect’s a bit ruined by the chef’s apron he’s wearing, with what Robbie can only assume is an obscure band’s name and logo on the front.

“Any good at potatoes, sir?” James gestures to the half-dozen large spuds waiting to be peeled.

“Dab hand. Leastways, I used to be.” He picks up the paring knife and gets started, then pauses as one thing James said strikes him. “Y’know, we’re off-duty and it’s Christmas Day. Reckon you could drop the sir.”

James slides the turkey back into the oven, then gives him a faint smile. “All right then. Robbie it is.”

______________________________________

James is surprisingly good in the kitchen – or perhaps what’s most surprising is that Robbie never discovered this fact before. Yes, James has cooked for him in the past, but mostly stir-fries or pasta dishes that take less than twenty minutes to put together. A full Christmas dinner, complete with stuffing, roast potatoes, three veg, chipolatas and gravy – now, that takes some doing, especially when the lad’s been working long hours up until today.

And it tastes bloody good, too. “Reckon you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel, man,” he tells James once he’s tried everything. “Might have to chain you to the oven next time we have a Sunday off.”

He gets a flash of a grin in return. “You do like your roast beef, don’t you?”

“Never do it as well in pubs. The potatoes are never crispy. Or the gravy’s runny.”

“Out of a tin, most likely,” James points out. This gravy isn’t, and it shows.

The table looks surprisingly festive, as well. It’s small, but James has made good use of the space, with a centrepiece candle, Christmas napkins and even crackers. He pulled them with the lad, but flatly refuses to wear the paper hat. James grins and puts his own on anyway.

Finished – and full – at last, he helps James to clear away, and as he does he catches sight of the time. Almost six o’clock. Missed the Queen’s Speech by a long way – Val would shake her finger at him – and he hasn’t once thought about Lyn.

“I should phone Lyn,” he says apologetically, reaching for his phone.

“No problem.” James is already patting his pockets. “I need a ciggie anyway. Tell her Merry Christmas from me, and I hope she and Tim are feeling better.”

“Will do,” he tells her, then as Lyn answers, “Merry Christmas, pet! How are you both?”

He doesn’t chat with Lyn for very long – she’s supposed to phone Tim’s mother in about ten minutes to say goodnight to Michael. But she and Tim are starting to feel better, and they even cooked dinner together today. “Not like a proper Christmas dinner, Dad. We’re saving that until you come up. But I feel terrible about you being on your own today.”

“No need, love. I’m not on me own. Just had Christmas dinner round at James’s. Never realised it before – he’s got no family, no-one to spend Christmas with.” And again he feels guilty for not knowing that, for never asking. 

“You mean actual Christmas dinner? Or a takeaway or something microwaveable?” Lyn sounds amused.

“Real Christmas dinner, I’ll have you know!” Robbie protests. “Turkey and everything. Cooked it together, we did.” Lyn snorts. “Well, I peeled the potatoes and veg. And carved the turkey.”

Lyn laughs. “I really want to meet your James.”

 _His_ James? Well, yeah, the bloke’s his sergeant – and his best mate, right enough. But _his_? 

He glances out the window, catching sight of James leaning casually against the low garden wall as he taps ash off his cigarette. _His_? The idea’s ridiculous. James doesn’t belong to anyone.

But he’s not going to get into that with Lyn. “Was thinking I might bring him up for New Year, if that’s okay.”

“Brilliant idea!” she says immediately. “We’d love to see him.”

He changes the subject, then ends the call shortly afterwards so Lyn can talk to her unofficial in-laws. Another call comes in just as he’s about to start washing the dishes, and when James comes back in a minute or two later he says, “Got some news for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Update on the homeless bloke. Wallace phoned.” PC Wallace was one of the uniformed constables assigned to visit the shelters. ”A social worker at O’Hanlon’s Shelter recognised him. Name’s Terry McMillan, and with some other things McMillan had told people at the shelter Wallace was able to track down a sister in Abingdon. No other family.”

“But at least he’ll have a name when he’s buried. And someone to mourn him.” James nods once. “Thank you.”

Robbie squeezes his shoulder. “Knew you’d want to know, so I asked the uniforms to call me if they found out anything.”

James pats Robbie’s arm, a gesture of appreciation, then goes to wash his hands. When he turns around, he’s smiling faintly. “I completely forgot!” He pulls at the remains of the turkey, still cooling on the counter before going into the fridge, then holds the wishbone aloft, little finger curled around one side.

Robbie stares for a moment, then shakes his head with a mock-exasperated look. “If you insist.” 

They pull, and he wins. James gives him an expectant look, and he huffs sheepishly. “Only wish I’ve got is for you to be happy,” he admits.

James looks back at him, his expression very surprised. “That’s... that would have been my wish for you.” He glances away, starting to fill the sink. “It’s what I’ve wanted for you for a long time.”

Robbie stares at him for a long moment, but can’t trust himself to say anything. Finally, he picks up a tea-towel. “You wash, I’ll dry.”

______________________________________

They take coffee and liqueurs to the coffee table once the clearing-up’s all done. “Thanks for this, James,” Robbie says, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “Don’t know what I’d have done with meself if you hadn’t gone to this trouble.”

James brushes the back of Robbie’s hand with his fingertips. A faint shiver courses through Robbie. Weird – he hadn’t thought it was cold in the flat. “It really was no trouble – and, remember, I’d have been on my own as well. I’ve enjoyed this, Robbie. Wouldn’t mind doing it again if the occasion arose.”

“Me too.” James really is a good bloke, and he can’t remember when he’s last enjoyed being with someone this much. 

 

He tips his head back, relaxing, and his gaze finds a spray of holly garland suspended over the coffee table. James really did go to lengths on the decorations, didn’t he?

Wait a minute... “Is that _mistletoe_?”

“Ah. Yes.” Pink is spreading all around James’s face and neck. “By the time I went to look for... um... decorations, all they had left were those arrangements of holly with mistletoe threaded in. I tried to take the mistletoe out, but it would’ve ruined the bouquet, so...” He looks away, clearly very embarrassed.

He could’ve just not put it up – but it does look pretty; Robbie will give him that.

James launches himself off the couch, landing up on his knees by the Christmas tree. He’s so obviously looking for a distraction from the mistletoe that Robbie can’t help grinning. It’s not often he sees his sergeant this discomfited.

“Presents!” James exclaims, coming back with the two parcels in his hand. “For you.”

Robbie accepts the slim midnight-blue parcel he noticed earlier. He squeezes it gently; it’s firm. A box of some sort. He shakes it. No rattle. James coughs gently. “It’s not always a good idea to shake presents, you know. Wouldn’t want to damage it, would you?”

Robbie gives in and opens it. The cardboard box declares that it contains a Kindle. “A what?”

James is clearly trying not to laugh. “It’s an e-reader. Electronic books.”

He blinks. “Thank you, but you know me an’ electronic stuff. Can’t even figure out me bloody phone.”

“You’re not as bad at technology as you think you are, and anyway I’ve already set it up for you. Pre-loaded a couple of books, as well. Trust me, you’ll find it very easy to use.” James is giving him that faintly mocking smile, but it’s the version that’s suffused with affection. “I promise, if you don’t like it after trying it for a month I’ll take it from you and you can choose a stack of old-tech books instead.”

He opens the box and studies the slimline device. “Well, Lyn’s always sayin’ I should give something like this a try, so... Thanks very much, man.”

James ducks his head, but the expression Robbie catches is of genuine pleasure. 

“Go on,” Robbie says, gesturing at the parcel he brought. “Though I warn you, it’s nothing like as good as this.”

“You’re joking!” James exclaims, holding up the gloves and pulling one on. “These are far better than my last pair, and much nicer than anything I thought I’d end up getting in the sales.” 

Robbie catches hold of the hand wearing the glove, testing the size. It actually fits perfectly. James folds his gloved hand around Robbie’s and presses. “Thank you, Robbie.” 

James’s gaze holds Robbie’s, and for a moment he feels as if all the air’s been sucked out of the room. With an awkward cough, he looks away – and the white globes of the mistletoe catch his eye again.

Well. Why not? It is Christmas, and James is one of the most important two or three people in his life. 

He gestures upwards. “Shouldn’t waste it, lad. C’mere.” He leans in, intending to kiss James’s cheek. But the bloke must have misunderstood or something, because he turns towards Robbie instead of just moving closer, and he kisses the corner of James’s mouth instead.

It’s awkward and embarrassing and he’s about to stammer his way through an apology and pretend that he needs the loo – but then he sees James’s face.

God. That’s it, isn’t it? All that brooding, and never spending time with anyone else outside work, and the flirting Robbie thought was just a wind-up. The wounded look on his face when Robbie told him he needed a partner. 

Of course he’s going to pretend he didn’t notice anything. Get up, go to the loo, and then make his excuses and leave. And over the next few days he’ll have to do his best to discourage James, while at the same time making clear that he does value the lad’s friendship.

“ _Robbie Lewis, you bloody coward!_ ”

He starts. _What?_ What the hell’s that supposed to mean? He really needs to get more sleep if his subconscious is playing those sort of tricks on him.

James is backing away, and it’s clear from the colour on the lad’s neck and the – yes, humiliation that he can glimpse on his face that he knows exactly what Robbie’s deduced. Shit. Now what?

_Val, where the hell are you when I need you to tell me what to do?_

But he knows what she’d say. “ _Follow your instincts_.”

He doesn’t stop to consider. He reaches out for James, gripping the bloke by the shoulders and then sliding a hand along his jaw to make him look up – and, god, that feels nice. Before he realises it, he’s stroked his thumb along James’s jawline.

“Sir–” 

“Told you to call me Robbie.” The last word’s murmured against James’s mouth as Robbie moves in for a proper kiss this time. 

It was worth a try, he’d thought. If it didn’t work, if he hated it, then he’d talk to James and they’d work it out somehow – but if by any chance it did...

There’s a jolt when their lips meet, which makes Robbie shiver the way the brush of James’s hand against his did earlier. _Not cold in the flat, then_. He wraps his arm around James’s back, stroking the soft fabric of the cotton shirt, and James makes a sound, a faint murmur, and suddenly he’s kissing back, hard and deep and needy, and... 

“God,” Robbie groans, and all thoughts of _if this doesn’t work_ fly out the window, because it is working, and it’s the best bloody kiss he’s had in years, and it’s James, who’s been beside him all along, only he never knew.

“Stop blaspheming and kiss me,” James whispers against his lips, and so he does.

______________________________________

“How long?” he asks James when they’ve both got to stop and breathe and let their brains catch up with the rest of them.

James shrugs, and pink stains his face again. Robbie grips his hand. “There’s no wrong answer, you know.”

A deep breath. “I’m not sure. At least three years, maybe more.”

“I didn’t know. I should have.” Especially after _if you go, I go_. He’s really been a thick bloody idiot over this, hasn’t he? It’s only surprising that Val hasn’t been telling him so inside his head.

“I’ve been trying to hide it.” James’s fingers clench around his. “It was getting harder.”

“All the drinking?”

James nods. “I was starting to wonder if I should just resign. If it’d be easier if I didn’t see you every day.”

Thank Christ he didn’t. On the other hand... “Maybe if you had, I’d’ve come to me senses sooner. It’s not just you,” he adds quickly; James deserves to have it spelt out for him – as much as Robbie can spell it out, anyway. 

“Better late than never.” James’s tone would normally make Robbie want to growl at him, but today... 

“Oh, stop your moaning and snog me, man.”

The expression in James’s eyes makes him wonder just how the lad’s been able to keep this to himself all this time. Lust, yes, but much, much more. 

“I will absolutely do that, Robbie.” The low whisper steals his breath away. “And then I’m going to ply you with alcohol and kiss you again, over and over, until you’ve got no choice or inclination but to spend the night in my bed. With me,” he clarifies, as if there’s any doubt.

“That an order, Sergeant?”

“It absolutely is, Inspector.” James brushes his lips over Robbie’s forehead, and down his face to the edge of his lips. 

“Bordering on insubordination, threatening a superior officer like that.” Robbie catches James’s lips and kisses him, hard.

James’s fingers stroke down his chest, over his nipples and through the gaps between his shirt-buttons. “Regulations would stipulate disciplinary action, sir.”

And Robbie knows where _that’s_ going. “You’re incorrigible, James. Now, I gave you an order... why am I still waiting?” 

James kisses him again. And later they do have some more alcohol, and Robbie does stay the night. In James’s bed. And it’s just as well that they’re both off-duty the next day, because for some reason they don’t get a lot of sleep.

And it’s the best Christmas Robbie’s had in years.


End file.
